His hands are in my hair. His voice is so soft. No one says my name the way he does, whether he's yelling at me because I've done something stupid, shrieking before he tosses Medals, or murmuring it in a private moment, a sacred moment, just between us.

I suck gently at his beautiful skin, hand sneaking inside his shirt at the waist. I want him to feel good.

I need him to feel good.